Waltzing at the Congress
by Kate Marley
Summary: One evening during the Congress of Vienna (1814-1815), Austria challenges Prussia to dance with him. Or: The fanfic in which Austria swears more than Prussia. Sort of a prequel to 'Ambiguity tolerance, 1938', but may be read separately. Inspired by several fanfics in which Austria dances with Prussia, but somehow never does what I'd have been tempted to do in Austria's stead …


**Waltzing at the Congress**

_One evening during the Congress of Vienna (1814-1815), Austria challenges Prussia to dance with him. Or: The fanfic in which Austria swears more than Prussia._

_Sort of a prequel to 'Ambiguity tolerance, 1938', but may be read separately. Inspired by several fanfics in which Austria dances with Prussia, but somehow never does what I'd have been tempted to do in Austria's stead …_

'I sincerely hope the tsar is not going to overturn the result of today's negotiations again', England remarked, entering the ballroom. 'It is rather unpleasant to discuss the same issues over and over again.'

'True', Austria replied. 'Metternich is not too happy about it either.' In fact, _not too happy_ was an understatement worthy of any Englishman. _Furious_ would have been more accurate, but Austria had to be careful with his wording: If he accidentally harmed diplomatic relations with Russia, Metternich would be furious with _him_.

France, for his part, had already forgotten about the congress, diplomacy, and negotiations alike. 'Ah, qu'elles sont belles, les filles', he cried out. 'Les Autrichiennes sont si jolies ! I want to dance with all those beautiful Austrian girls in their pretty dresses!' Then, he dashed off, doubtlessly in order to flirt with as many pretty girls as possible.

Austria and England only looked at each other and rolled their eyes. If there was anything about which they agreed without ever having to speak about, it was France's behaviour towards women. Luckily, for France, Talleyrand was a lot more apt in diplomatic talk than the embodiment of his country.

'This mansion is built in Italian style, да?', Russia asked, sounding a little dreamy. 'Your Austrian noblemen have good taste.'

'Y— Yes, this is an atrium house', Austria answered politely. You never knew what the Russian was thinking. 'There's a baroque garden in the open courtyard, with a fountain in its centre. The interior decoration', he gestured at walls and ceiling, 'is in rococo style, though.'

'Cпасибо for your explanation, Mr Austria', Russia replied, smiling. 'There are hardly any atrium houses in Russia, so this is really interesting.'

_I should think so_, Austria thought, a little irritated. _It would not make much sense to build a house with an open atrium in a region notorious for its ice-cold winters._

'Oh c'mon, those poor Austrian attempts at Italian elegance really _suck_! Just look at Sanssouci if you want to see a truly awesome building!' That was Prussia. Who else. Yet another country embodiment who could deem himself lucky his leading diplomatist, Hardenberg, was politer than himself. Austria rolled his eyes again.

'Are you really trying to tell me the buildings of Potsdam were more … "awesome" than those of Vienna?', Austria asked, voice dripping sarcasm. There was no need to be diplomatic with _that one_. 'That Potsdam of yours was still a _swamp_ when Vienna had already become a cultural centre. Come to think of it, it probably still is. Besides, Sanssouci looks like a toad on a hill.'

'Don't you dare insult …', Prussia started, but Austria simply walked away. He had spotted a familiar face, the conductor of this evening's string orchestra. 'Did you see that?', he heard Prussia's agitated voice behind him. 'That prissy aristocrat just ditched me! I can't believe it!' Austria suppressed a chuckle.

'Mr Pamer', he then greeted the young conductor with a short bow.

'Prince Edelstein', Pamer replied, bowing very low. 'It is a great honour for us to play for you this evening, Your Serene Highness.'

Austria smiled. He had arranged for Pamer to be asked to conduct, so this was more than just a polite phrase.

'The orchestra will also play some new waltzes I composed', Pamer, who was also known as a composer of Viennese waltzes, added. 'I sincerely hope they will be to your and Baroness Héderváry's liking, Your Serene Highness.'

'I am sure your waltzes will be as lovely as ever', Austria answered. 'Unfortunately, Baroness Héderváry cannot be here this evening.' _Damn_. Now there was the opportunity to dance with Elizaveta to brand new music, and this happened to be the only evening in several _weeks_ when she had had to stay at home in order to prepare some documents for the negotiations of the following day.

'I am sad to hear this', Pamer said. 'Nevertheless, I wish you an agreeable evening, Your Serene Highness.'

'Yes, thank you, Pamer', Austria replied. 'And a successful evening to you.'

Pamer was muttering thanks, when a familiar voice cut in from behind. Austria turned.

'Oh my, all this prim politeness talk', Prussia ranted, with England and Russia standing right behind him. While Russia looked unperturbed as ever, England was clearly feeling uncomfortable. 'And to think you just insulted the _culture_ of my people! I demand at least some sort of reparation!'

Something clicked in Austria's head.

No. This was a silly idea. One of the _daftest_ ideas he had ever had.

He thought twice.

But then, why not?

'All right', Austria said. 'There is one way for you to prove you actually have culture, Prussia. This man', he gestured to Pamer, 'is among the best composers of Viennese waltzes I know. If you agree to dance to one of his waltzes with me without making a complete fool of yourself, I will take back what I said about Potsdam being a swamp and Sanssouci looking like a toad on a hill. Will you agree to that?'

'If I— _what_?' Prussia looked at him as if he was insane. The Austrian couldn't even mind.

'And I take the lead', Austria added as an afterthought, lifting one brow. _If you're going to do it, then do it._

'_You_ take the lead? I'll _never_ agree to that!'

'I thought so', Austria replied, smiling sweetly. 'I always knew people like you have no culture.' Then, he turned his back to Prussia. Again.

'W— Wait!'

'Yes?' Austria turned his head, brow arching even higher.

'All right, all right, I'll do it. That dance is known in Berlin since the 1790s, you prissy aristocrat.'

'That dance', Austria said in his most deprecating tone, 'has been popular in Vienna _a whole decade earlier_. Always late, that's what you Piefkes are.' _Besides, _he thought,_ if it's_ known in Berlin, _that doesn't mean _you know_ how to dance it._

Prussia glared at him angrily, but before he could reply, the string orchestra started to play, and Austria unceremoniously gripped his hands.

_Some things are wonderful about the Viennese waltz,_ Austria pondered, shifting one of Prussia's arms to his neck and positioning his free hand around the other country's waist. _Your partner doesn't have to have that much of a clue about that dance, if only you are the one who takes the lead. You can whirl him — or, in general,_ her _—_ _around like an object as soon as you've picked up speed, _and they can't to anything about it. _At least not without risking themselves to get smashed against the furniture if they let go of your hand. Plus, you don't even have to be particularly strong to do this._ He smiled. _Just hold on and let centrifugal force do the rest._ Of course, he would never do this to Hungary. But with Prussia, it was different.

'Austria?', Prussia asked after some time, sounding uncomfortable. 'Are you sure you know what you're doing?'

'Of course I know what I am doing', Austria chuckled. He actually started to _enjoy_ this.

'Is this dance really supposed to be so fast?' Prussia sounded a little afraid. Austria knew the whirling probably made him dizzy.

'You don't want the others to look down on you for not being able to dance a Viennese waltz, right?', Austria asked, with the same sweet smile as before. 'Then just hold on and let me do the rest. Vertrau mir doch mal, Dummerl!'

'As if I'd trust—' Prussia fell silent. Austria assumed the other country had realised he had hardly any other options.

Finally, the music ceased. With a firm grip, Austria whirled Prussia to a stop. England started to clap; Russia simply smiled, as always. Austria moved his arm from Prussia's waist to his neck, and they bowed together — or, rather, Austria made Prussia bow.

'We have to talk', Prussia snarled through gritted teeth.

'I thought so', Austria said coolly. Now, that was the dangerous part. He tugged Prussia's arm under his and walked him out of the ballroom. He knew the other country had to feel dizzy still.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

As soon as they had left the room, Gilbert pinned Roderich against the wall, hand around his throat.

'What the _hell_ was that for?', Gilbert growled. He sounded really angry. 'Did you want to take revenge for all the times you couldn't beat me on the battlefield? Did you want to shame me in front of all the other countries — and humans?'

'No', Roderich said, choking. 'As a matter of fact, I did not shame you. I c— Could you just release my throat a little, I can't breathe?' Gilbert slightly loosened his grip. 'I could have shamed you, b—', Roderich was still having a hard time, breathing, 'But I didn't do it. I made everyone think you could dance really well, didn't I? England clapped.'

'You whirled me around like some fucking _slingshot!_' Gilbert tightened his grip again. 'But I'm stronger than you, you fucking _sissy!_'

'You're c— crushing in my Adam's apple', Roderich managed to whisper. He felt his eyelids droop for lack of oxygen. The grip around his throat became softer, and he took a shuddering breath.

That was when Gilbert seemed to take in the situation. He used the hand around Roderich's throat to tilt up the other country's head. The anger in his red eyes ceased and made room for something else.

Roderich looked at him sulkily, though his heart wasn't in it. He knew what was coming. It wasn't the first time.

Gilbert crushed his lips against the Austrian's. Roderich sighed inwardly. The Prussian could kiss quite well, but why did his first advances always have to be that forceful?

Then, Gilbert drew back and started to nibble at Roderich's bottom lip. Roderich closed his eyes. Now, that was better. Besides, it gave him time to breathe. He still needed to get more oxygen into his system if he didn't want to pass out.

After some time, Gilbert teasingly slid his tongue between Roderich's half-parted lips. _Breathe on,_ Roderich told himself sternly. With some effort, he managed for his breath not to catch.

At last, Gilbert started to explore the inside of Roderich's mouth with his tongue. Roderich's breathing grew heavier. _Don't kiss back. Don't kiss back._ It became more and more difficult not to, but what if he did? He knew Gilbert pretended kissing him was only an extended form of bullying. He knew the Prussian thought Roderich didn't like it, but for some reason never managed to shove him away. He also knew Gilbert would _never ever_ admit to liking _Roderich_, either.

Then, he felt a sharp pain at the side of his head. _Ouch_. His control slipped, and now he _was_ kissing back. _Damn_.

Gilbert broke the kiss, a wicked grin on his lips. _Verdammt, verdammt, verdammt_, Roderich thought.

'Now that was unexpected', Gilbert murmured, still grinning. 'Seems like that Mariazell of yours is your soft spot. Will you kiss me back if I tug at it again, little master?'

Roderich stared at him, a look of incredulity on his face. Then, relief washed over him. He almost laughed. _No, you silly moron, _he thought, _Mariazell is not my soft spot. That's_ you, _believe it or not. It's just that tugging on it _hurts._ Tugging wisps of hair always does._

Gilbert brought his lips to Roderich's again. This time, Roderich was prepared. When the tug came — and it really _did_ hurt — he kissed back with all his heart, hand cupped around Gilbert's face. He felt Gilbert's breath catch. _That's it,_ Roderich thought. _That is what I want._

He closed his eyes, wanting to shut out anything but that feeling. Anything but — that creaking noise to his right? _That just can't be true_, Roderich thought, breaking the kiss. _Damn_. There it was, what he wanted, and now someone had to come out of the ballroom.

'Step back', he hissed at Gilbert, who, for once, did as he was told.

'Austria? Are you all right?'

_Russia_, Austria thought, annoyed. _Of all people_.

'Yeah, I'm fine', he answered. 'I just had an argument with Prussia about the Viennese waltz we danced together, but I think it is almost settled now.'

'Конечно', Russia answered in his typical smiling voice, and Austria wondered if he believed him or not. 'Just come back into the ballroom, you two. We're missing you.'

'Just a minute, all right?'

'Хорошо', Russia answered, and left them alone.

'That guy is creepy', Prussia said when he was sure Russia wouldn't hear it anymore, then shrugged it off. 'Let's get back in.'

'Wait', Austria warned. 'Do you really want to go back now, bruised lips and all? _Everyone_ will know what we just did.'

'Oh, well. You're probably right. So what do we do?'

'We could wash our faces at the fountain in the atrium of that — what did you call it? — poor Austrian attempt at Italian elegance', Austria said, smiling.

'All right', Prussia said, without arguing.

There was an air of quiet complicity between the two of them as they walked to the atrium. Austria liked it; Prussia was actually behaving like a normal person in his presence for once. It even made him forgive Russia for interrupting.

—

**Notes and translations:**

**French:**

Ah, qu'elles sont belles, les filles ! = Oh, how beautiful the girls are!

Les Autrichiennes sont si jolies ! = The Austrians (i.e., Austrian girls) are so pretty!

**Russian **(I know it's not idiomatic; I'm going to fix this some time!):

да (da) = yes

спасибо (spasibo) = thank you

конечно (konechno) = of course

хорошо (khorosho) = okay

**German:**

Piefke = pejorative for Germans — usually people from northern Germany — in Austrian dialect

Vertrau mir doch mal, Dummerl! = Just trust me for once, silly!

Verdammt! = Damn!

The **Congress of Vienna** (September 1814 to June 1815) was a European peace conference in which ambassadors attempted to settle territorial issues caused by the aftermath of the French revolution (1789) and, in particular, the Napoleonic wars (1803-1815). Clemens Wenceslaus Nepomuk Lothar von **Metternich**-Winneburg zu Beilstein (1773-1859) was the leader of the Austrian delegation and originally wanted to get through with the negotiations as fast as possible. One reason why this didn't work out as planned was the Russian **tsar** **Alexander**'s (1777-1825) tendency to overturn the negotiation results of his delegation, led by Karl Robert von _Nesselrode_ (1780-1862). Carl August von **Hardenberg** (1750-1822) led the Prussian delegation, Robert Stewart, 2nd Marquess of Londonderry, Lord _Castlereagh_ (1769-1822) led the English one. The French delegation was lead by Charles Maurice de **Talleyrand**-Périgord (1754-1838), a quite fascinating figure who managed to work for French king Louis XVI, several governments of the French Revolution, Napoléon, and three more French kings (Louis XVIII, Charles X, and Louis-Philippe) without ever getting his head cut off.

Georg Wenzeslaus von Knobelsdorff (1699-1753) built **Sanssouci** palace (_Schloss Sanssouci_) in **Potsdam**, near Berlin, between 1745 and 1747 as a summer residence for Frederick II 'the Great' of Prussia (1712-1786). Its name refers to the French phrase _sans souci_, meaning 'without concern'.

**Michael Pamer** (1782-1827) is an early composer of Viennese waltzes. The **Viennese waltz,** deemed lewd due to the closeness of the dancing couples in the decades before, had become popular among the participants of the Congress of Vienna. I don't know if Pamer was ever present during evening events arranged for the ambassadors who participated in the negotiations, though.

Um, yes, one further note: The girl who's writing here has had her own rather bad experiences, whirling like an object during a Viennese waltz … But you might have guessed as much by now.


End file.
